


Anorexia Nervosa

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: Gibbs' Family [7]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Age Play, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anorexia, Anorexic Character, Discussions of death, Eating Disorders, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Sexual Age Play, Pre-Series, Referenced Hospitilization, Tony DiNozzo & Jethro Gibbs Father-Son Relationship, Tony-centric, Worried Gibbs, bottles, like...so many
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: Tony hasn't been eating as much lately, and Gibbs is concerned. Something serious is going on in the mind of his SFA.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know you guys might scroll past this, but please read the notes at the end. It's important.

Tony sat at his desk, spinning a pencil around and around in circles in his right hand, considering the paper work in front of him, and trying to find the right words he needed for what had happened on their last case. His stomach growled. He glanced at the clock. It was noon, time for lunch. He sighed and put his pencil down, leaning back and stretching. Viv looked over at him. "Done with paperwork already?"

"Nah, but it's lunch time," Tony said, pointing to the clock. "And I don't know about you, but I'm a little hungry."

"You going out to eat again?" Viv asked.

"Probably. Why, want me to bring you back something?"

"Pizza'd be nice, if you're heading in the direction of that family-run place."

Tony considered the request, how many calories each slice would give him. He'd have to grab cheese to have 2, anything else would have to be one of the smallest pieces of the pie, and Viv liked stuff on the pizza. "I could get you a small for you to have, I was feeling more like fish today, so I wouldn't be in the mood to share." That was conceivable, right? Feeling like something else so he could get out of having something so calorie-heavy.

"Eh, if you're not gonna eat any I'm never finishing it by myself. And they don't sell personal pies, do they?"

Tony thought it over. He didn't know; he always bought one of the smalls, which would last for a week of dinner. "I could check while I'm out. If they do, you'd want a four-cheese with olives?"

Viv nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Tony."

"Any time," Tony said, heading to the elevator.

* * *

Tony walked back into the bullpen with a 4-slice pizza for Viv and a small fish sandwich for himself. He passed her the pizza with a small smile and went back to his desk, eating the fish slowly. It was grilled, not fried, and the bread was whole wheat, so he didn't have to worry about debating whether or not to have dinner. Gibbs was looking over at him and he took a deep breath, knowing he had to play the clown to make everything seem like it was normal, even though he was craving something heavier than fish. "Something on my face, boss? Or do you just _like_  me?"

Gibbs growled and Tony smirked, going back to his food. He didn't miss the glances Gibbs kept giving him, though. "No pizza today?" Gibbs asked casually. _Too_  casually.

"Is that what this is about?" Tony asked. "I had some pizza for dinner last night. Didn't feel like having it again so soon. It's nothing to worry about, boss."

Gibbs grunted and turned back to his computer, and Tony's stomach clenched in unease. Something was up with Gibbs, and Tony didn't like the thought of it coming crashing down on him. _Stop it, you're being ridiculous_ , he berated himself. _You're fine_.

He couldn't get the thought out of his head that Gibbs was staring at him, though. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help the feeling of eyes on him. He worked through it as long as he could, and when he couldn't stand it any more he took a break to get bottled water. When he walked back to his desk, Gibbs was gone, and Tony almost let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to have those eyes looking into his soul anymore. He didn't have to worry about Gibbs asking him a question too sharply and having Little Tony take over.

He got back to work and didn't notice when Gibbs came back into the room with coffee and a cookie. He did notice, however, when Gibbs subtly slipped the cookie on his desk. He looked up as the man walked by. "One small sandwich isn't going to keep you full forever, DiNozzo. I expect you to eat something when you get hungry," Gibbs ordered.

Tony nodded. "You got it, boss," he said, glancing at the cookie. If it was from Gibbs' usual cafe, then it would have about 100 calories. Not ideal, but not bad. He'd eat it later.

* * *

The next morning, Tony woke up feeling a little off. He sat up in bed and his head swam, and he knew that, unfortunately, he'd have to have a bigger breakfast this morning to stop the dizziness. He went into his bathroom and turned on the scale, stepping on it and waiting with bated breath as it calculated his weight. When he saw the result, his breath left him with a whoosh. Only 140 pounds! His dad wouldn't be able to insult him over his weight! Maybe it wasn't the heaviest weight he could be while still being fit, but the last time he had been on the heavier side of a healthy BMI, his dad had still put him down. But that wasn't an option now!

He considered the fact that he was hungry, but that eating would raise his weight, and he didn't want that. So he got dressed, and left his apartment before he could change his mind and eat something. He stopped at a small coffee shop on the way to work in order to give himself an energy boost. He walked into work with his stomach snarling quietly at him, and he pretended not to notice the stabbing pain he was getting in his abdomen. He sat down at his desk and started his work. He was feeling lightheaded _but I'm finally losing weight_ his head was spinning and he wasn't sure he could stand up _but Dad can't call me unfit ever again_. His mind roared in a debate with itself for a solid hour as he did work, and by that time he was feeling better and he was convinced that the worst of it was over. Viv cleared her throat and Tony looked up. "Something up, Viv?"

"Have you...did you eat breakfast? Your stomach's growling pretty loudly."

Tony blushed. He honestly hadn't thought it was that bad. "Ah, I had to skip it, I was running late. Just coffee this morning. I'll make up for it at lunch."

"You could...eat a snack?" Viv said. "You don't have to wait until lunch, provided you don't get food all over the paperwork and computers."

"Thing is, if boss comes in here and catches me eating, I'm dead," Tony said, turning his focus back to work. "I can wait until lunch."

"You sure about that? Look, Tony, I could cover for you..."

"I'm _fine_ ," Tony insisted.

Gibbs walked up and stood at the entrance of the bullpen. "You 2 have anything for the cold cases?"

"I do, boss," Tony said, standing up and immediately regretting it. His head swam and almost felt like it was detached from his body. He was hyper-aware of his feet being on the floor and his head in the air, but there seemed to be no body connecting them. And suddenly his head was falling through space through the ground, until just as suddenly there were arms grabbing him by the chest and shoulders. He blinked several times, finding that the world had gone to black. When light was hitting his pupils again, Viv and Gibbs were both looking him over in concern.

Gibbs was saying something, though it took Tony longer than usual to register it. "Viv, do you know when the last time he ate something was?"

"Said he was running late and skipped breakfast this morning. I was just telling him to get a snack when you walked in," Viv replied.

Tony blinked a few more times, hoping that the dizziness in his head would go away. He hadn't eaten much all week, more so than before, because he decided he wanted to be serious about losing weight. But that shouldn't make him _this_  dizzy...And now he was moving? But he couldn't feel himself walking? What was up with that?

"Hey, Tony, I'm taking you down to Ducky, okay? He's going to check you over and make sure you're all right. Have you been eating?"

"Uh-huh," Tony said, feeling himself slipping into little space, but too dizzy and weak to care.

"Have you been eating enough?" Papa asked.

Had he? He wasn't sure. He'd been eating less, to lose weight, obviously, but he didn't know what constituted "enough." He shrugged.

"Gonna need an answer, kiddo," Gibbs whispered. There was the ding of the elevator and suddenly he wasn't moving, just leaning into Gibbs with his head lolling on his shoulders.

"I dunno," Tony mumbled. "Jus' woke up feelin' dizzy."

"And you still came to work?" Papa asked. "That's not okay, kiddo. You should have stayed home."

Tony grimaced. He was feeling worse, like he was gonna puke, and his head hurt, and everything was too much. "I don' take sick days. I'm strong enough to not need 'em."

"You'll run yourself into the ground with that attitude, kiddo. We'll talk about this later, after Ducky checks you over."

Ducky? Ducky couldn't see him when he was little! He had to be big. Had to be...ugh. His head was too spinny to let him focus. He couldn't age up like this. He was stuck, and starting to panic.

"Hey, kiddo, it's all right. Just breathe. Ducky wouldn't expect you to be normal after you nearly passed out anyway. You don't have to be big, Tony. It's okay."

Tony whimpered as the elevator dinged again, and this time when Papa started to move, his feet were dragging on the floor. Papa muttered a curse under his breath that made Tony giggle, before picking up Tony's legs under the knee and carrying him bridal style into autopsy. Papa's words washed over him, as did Ducky's response. He was carried...and put down somewhere cold. An examination table. "Anthony, can you open your eyes for me?" Ducky asked.

With effort, Tony did so. Ducky immediately shone a light in his eyes and Tony flinched away from it, closing his eyes again. Ducky was speaking again, but not to Tony. He was poked and prodded, and then Ducky put his hands on Tony's chest, and Tony felt the man go still. Autopsy was silent. "Duck?" Papa asked.

Tony opened his eyes and nearly whimpered at Ducky's serious face. Ducky ran his hand up and down Tony's rib cage lightly. "Anthony, you have not been eating enough. I can feel your ribs."

Papa growled, and Tony winced. Ducky turned to him and, thankfully, was quick enough to assure him. "It's not _that_  prominent, Jethro, though it still poses an issue. I imagine if Anthony eats 3 meals a day with one or 2 snacks between his meals, he would be at a healthy weight in no time. However, to get a more accurate representation, I would need to weigh him. Do you think he can stand on his own long enough for an accurate measurement?"

"Doubt it," Papa said. "Considering I had to carry him in here. He couldn't even lift his legs to walk out of the elevator."

"Well, no matter," Ducky said. "We can help him on his feet long enough to find out."

Tony tried to sit up. "N-n...no..." he protested. His arms shook and he fell back to the table, causing him to gasp as his head collided with the metal.

Papa sighed and lifted him off the table. "Where's your scale?" he asked.

Tony tried to get himself out of Papa's grip, but he couldn't find the strength. He was starting to get really scared. The last time he had been this weak someone had called an ambulance and taken him to the hospital. They had force-fed him until they deemed him healthy and sent him on his merry way. He didn't want to go through that again.

Papa set him feet first on cool plastic and held him steady as the machine registered his weight. Ducky peered at the result and tutted. "Oh, dear."

"Duck?" Papa asked.

"It appears Anthony is only 140 pounds. For a man with his lifestyle and height, I'm surprised it took him this long to show problems. He had a physical 2 months ago, did he not?"

Papa must have nodded, because Ducky moved out of Tony's range of vision, saying, "I'll check his file."

Tony knew it was over. He remembered that at his physical he had weighed...180 pounds, or something of the like. He had been proud he had managed to lose the 40 pounds that had made him unfit, but now he knew they were coming back to haunt him.

Ducky moved within Tony's range of vision again, but his jaw was set in anger. "Anthony," he said. "How often have you been eating?"

Tony considered his reply. He knew that his truthful answer wouldn't make the man happy, but he knew he didn't want to lie to Ducky, either. "Twice a day," he mumbled.

"And how much do you eat twice a day? In calories," Ducky asked.

"Oh, c'mon, Duck, he's not gonna know--"

"About 750 to 1,000," Tony replied.

The room went silent again, and Tony wished he were anything but conscious. Ducky sighed. "Jethro, I would suggest we get young Anthony to a doctor more suited toward the living. It appears he is suffering from an eating disorder, however I can not give an official diagnosis."

Tony could feel Papa's stare on him as he said, "I can take him to the hospital right now, if that's necessary. He certainly can't stay here if he's this faint."

"I do not believe he is in need of a hospital yet, however if he loses consciousness for more than 5 minutes or suffers a seizure, he will have to be taken there for treatment of hypoglycemia. Take him home, give him something to eat, and he should gather most of his wits about him within the day, provided he continues to eat a substantial meal in the evening," that last part was said with a pointed glance to Tony.

"I'll make sure he eats, Duck," Papa assured, picking Tony up bridal style again and carrying him out of autopsy.

Tony wanted to say something in his defense, since he could tell Papa was angry, but he was so tired, and kinda upset, and if he had to choose between sleep and crying, he would choose sleep. "Papa, tired," he said, rubbing his eyes best he could when his limbs felt like lead.

"Then sleep, kiddo. I'll wake you up when we're home."

So Tony slept.

* * *

Something rubbery was pressing against Tony's cheek, and he didn't like it. He groaned and moved away from the object, but it just moved and pressed against his other cheek. Tony cracked one eye open and found himself lying on Papa's couch, with his head in Papa's lap. "There's my boy," Papa said softly. "Told ya I'd wake you up when we were home, but I didn't really think you'd sleep the whole way. I had to carry you past security, kiddo, and they were giving me some _very_  odd looks."

Tony giggled, before yawning. He was still tired, and probably could have slept more, if it weren't for Papa poking his cheek with the rubber thing from before.

"No more sleeping for you, kiddo. Not yet. You gotta have some lunch first."

Tony frowned. "No, Papa."

"Yes, Tony," Papa insisted. "This is not something you can skip out of. Either I feed you, or I'll take you to the hospital and _they_  can feed you. Probably through a tube, if you don't cooperate. Which you and I both know you won't."

Tony whimpered. "Don' like the hospital. Mean people made me eat 'til I thought I'd puke."

"Well, I'll try to not make you puke, kiddo. But I do need you to eat something. And not something small, either. A full meal, if you can manage it."

Tony's stomach twisted. He didn't like this, not at all. "No, Papa," he said again.

Papa frowned. "I thought you might say that, which is why I'm making you a compromise. Because you clearly have some problems eating like a big boy, I have taken the liberty of purchasing a few bottles," Papa held up the thing he was poking Tony with earlier, and it was indeed a bottle. "Which I'm going to use to help you. If you can drink a whole bottle of chocolate shake, then I'll let you have something light for lunch."

Tony thought about it. That didn't sound too bad. Sure, a chocolate shake would have a lot of calories, but surely he could burn them off quickly, since it would be a lot of simple sugar. He nodded. "Okay."

Papa smiled, and moved the bottle so the teat was in Tony's mouth. Tony knew how to latch onto it; he did the same sucking on his fingers all the time. But he wasn't expecting the shake to be so... _sweet_. He sputtered and coughed. "'S _sweet_ , Papa," he whined.

"I know, that's why it's a shake," Papa said. "Though I never thought I'd see the day where _you_  find something to be too sweet. Can you drink it anyway?"

Tony, knowing that this was his only way out of a full lunch, miserably began sucking again, until the whole bottle was gone. He leaned away from the teat and into Papa's stomach. Now he was really sleepy. Papa ruffled his hair. "I still need you to eat something, kiddo. Would you like some apple slices? Maybe with peanut butter?"

"Nuh-uh," Tony said. "Tummy feels sick."

Papa pressed it lightly and frowned. "It doesn't feel sick to me, it feels almost full. Kiddo, you've been starving yourself if a bottle makes you feel full."

"Am not," Tony mumbled. "'M makin' sure that Dad can't call me fat."

Tony got no verbal response, so he looked up at Papa. The man was staring at him intently, with his eyes squinted, analyzing him. Papa took a deep breath, and said, "If I ever meet your father, I will personally break his jaw so he can never speak to you again."

"But Papa, you say that violence isn' the answer to problems," Tony said.

Papa blinked, and ran a hand over his face. "Ah, kiddo, forgot for a second that you were little."

"So...violence is okay when I'm big?" Tony asked hopefully.

"No!" Papa said. "No, I just...grr..." he took some deep breaths and Tony almost giggled at his face. Almost. "Papa sometimes says things he doesn't mean, and forgets that when you're little you can't tell the difference between being serious and just expressing anger. Violence isn't the answer. I'm just mad."

"Why?" Tony asked.

"Because you're slowly killing yourself because of something your dad said."

"'M not killing myself," Tony said. He could feel his tummy twisting at the thought, and he almost hoped he got sick, though he knew that Papa would make him drink another shake if he did throw up. "'M making myself _better_. I was too heavy."

"You were perfectly healthy, Tony," Papa said softly. "You're making yourself sick by losing weight. Did you know you're more likely to get sick from being underweight than being overweight?"

Tony shook his head.

"That's right. Plenty of people are what most people would consider 'overweight' and lead happy, healthy lives. And you were in a perfectly healthy weight range 2 months ago. But if someone can feel your ribs, kiddo, that's a problem."

Tony's tummy twisted again and his chin wobbled. Papa wasn't yelling at him or threatening him with death like the people from years ago did before he was forced into the hospital, he was just stating facts and letting Tony make his own conclusions. No one had ever done that for him before, and for the first time he could actually see why not eating might be an issue. He didn't want to die, and he knew that Papa wouldn't lie about dying just to threaten him into eating. If Papa said that he had a real problem, then he had a real problem. But, somehow, the fact that someone else knew and genuinely wanted him to get better helped. He sniffled and started speaking before he could think about why he shouldn't say what he wanted to, because he knew he had to get this out of him.

"Dad's always found something wrong with me that could be better, and when I was really little he said that I was a lazy couch potato who would do nothing but grow fat every day. So I started playin' sports, justa see if I could make him happy and prove to him that I could be useful. And it worked...for a while. But when I went into college and got a Phys Ed major, he...he lost it. He said no one with as much weight as I had could ever do anything like play professional sports or do anything else I wanted." He squirmed under the memory, but forced himself through it. "So I tried to lose weight to make him happy, prove I could do the things he said I couldn't.

"But...people got mad, 'specially my coach, and they all yelled and said I was gonna kill myself unless I ate something, and they forced me into the hospital where they shoved tubes down my throat and force-fed me when the food the doctors and nurses gave me made me feel sick. They all said it was for my own good, but it was awful. So for a while after that I tried not to care, and I gained some weight, and when I got out of the hospital, coach was okay with it. And I tried to lose weight more subtly, and it worked, mostly. But when I took my physical 2 months ago...I was the weight I was when Dad yelled at me, and I didn't want him coming around and yelling at me again. So I took the...the drastic route. I guess I shoulda eaten this morning, but I was so happy that I reached my goal weight, I...I didn't want to lose it." He swallowed. "And now you're gonna send me back to the hospital and I'm gonna get more tubes and I...I don't wanna live through that again..."

Papa lifted Tony into a sitting position and hugged him. "Oh, kiddo, _no_. No, I'm not gonna send you to the hospital unless I think you're about to die. And all you gotta do is eat a little more for me until you don't pass out whenever you stand up, so you're not on death's doorstep yet. You're just gonna stay here with me until you get your weight up and you understand that you have to keep it there. Okay? What did the doctors say you had when you were at the hospital before? It sounds like you're just having a relapse."

" _Anorexia nervosa_ ," Tony said. "Means that I don't eat in order to lose weight, or at least to not gain it."

Papa sighed into Tony's hair. "I know what it is. And this won't be easy, but I think we can get you better, kiddo. How about we set up a doctor's appointment, just to find you a meal plan that will work to boost your weight a little. Not a lot, just to a healthier weight--and we can work from there, okay? I love you, Tony. And no matter what your dad says, Papa here always thinks you're perfect, just the way you are, if you're not hurting yourself."

Tony pulled back from Papa a bit and smiled uncertainly. He nodded. "I'll make you proud, Papa."

"I already am, kiddo," Papa said, squeezing Tony's hands. "I already am."

**Author's Note:**

> Eating disorders are a very real thing, a very real and oftentimes very _scary_ thing. I do not know everything about them, and was writing from some research and a lot of personal experience. These disorders come in many shapes and sizes, and can affect anyone, despite the stereotype being tall and skinny white teenage girls. If you or someone you know might have an eating disorder, please, _get help_. The longer you wait, the longer it will take to recover. The consequences of anorexia and similar are _very_ serious. Take care of yourselves, everyone. Sending love~


End file.
